A Baron for Becky Read Free Page A

had been just outside
of Bath, half a day’s ride away. “If you’re off to search the
countryside, perhaps one of you would take a message to my cousin
in Longford, the Earl of Chirbury at Longford Court.”
    “No time,” Tiny
told him.
    Aldridge
sighed. “So much for Smite’s promises,” he said. “Ah well. I
daresay I can walk to Longford, though it might alarm the local
populace. When I get to London, though, I’ll be having a little
talk with our mutual friend. ‘Anything you need, any time,’ he
said.” Aldridge made shooing motions with his hands. “Go on, then.
Go, if you’re going. I might as well get some more sleep.”
    Tiny looked a
little hunted. He’d witnessed Smite’s first meeting with Aldridge.
Clearly, Tiny knew no better than Aldridge what the crime lord
would expect of him now.
    Aldridge let
him stew for a minute, then offered him a way out. “I suppose
whoever rides over to Longford could just give my note to a
villager. That would do.”
    Tiny agreed,
and found a scrap of paper in one pocket and a pencil in the other.
Pity. Aldridge had hoped to move the entire meeting up to the
house, so Rose and Sarah could release themselves from their
prison.
    He wrote
quickly and handed the message to Tiny, who read it before giving
it to the searcher heading for Longford. Would Rede recognise his
writing? He had no idea if his cousin had even seen a letter from
him. Well, if no carriage came, Aldridge would have to think of
something else.
     
     

     

Chapter Two
    Trapped in the seat,
with Sarah’s light weight heavier by the minute, the woman known as
the Rose of Frampton listened with growing appreciation as her
rescuer played Smite’s men like an orchestra. She’d heard of the
Merry Marquis—who hadn’t? The Marquis of Aldridge: one of the
richest men in England, and one of the randiest, too, by all
accounts.
    Among
mistresses and courtesans, his generosity with women of their kind
was legendary—and of far more interest to Rose than his rumoured
prowess in the act by which she made her living.
    Aldridge talked
circles around his audience: cajoling, commanding, teasing,
amusing, coaxing; by turns haughty, friendly, and bored. Rose
understood very little of the London argot, but the tension eased
from the air, the men’s voices changed as they relaxed their
battle-ready awareness and fell under Aldridge’s spell.
    By the time he
sent them off on their wild goose chase around the countryside,
Sarah had fallen asleep. Rose hoped they would all leave, but the
leader said he would wait here for his followers’ reports. Rose
felt the bench seat shift slightly as someone sat on it, and she
heard Aldridge’s voice directly above her, addressing the leader of
the heavies.
    “You do not
have to keep me company, Tiny. I’m happy to go back to sleep until
Rede’s carriage arrives.”
    Tiny muttered
something, and Aldridge answered as if he could not care a bean.
“Search the garden? Why not. Help yourself, old chap.” His weight
shifted above her, and suddenly his voice was only inches above her
head. “I’ll just check out the back of my eyelids.”
    Long moments
passed before Tiny grunted, and his boots sounded on their way to
the door and down the steps.
    Aldridge spoke,
his voice a whisper. “Best stay there, ladies. I hope you are not
too uncomfortable.”
    She whispered
back. “Sarah is asleep. We can stay as long as we must. Thank
you.”
    “No talking,”
he warned. She was tempted to tell him he had started it, but she
stayed silent.
    Sarah slept on
as the minutes slowly passed. Rose ignored her increasing
discomfort, straining her ears to hear Tiny as he searched the
garden, grumbling loudly to himself. He must have a couple of men
still here, since she heard him talking to one down by the back
gate, and another up near the house. Thank all the powers of Heaven
he didn’t think to poke in the low shrubbery around the
summerhouse, where Aldridge had stowed their